


One and Only

by Wearing Cardigans (Haelblazer)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Songfic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haelblazer/pseuds/Wearing%20Cardigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Song Fic in 4 vignettes from Spike’s perspective.  “One and Only” – Timbaland feat. Fall Out Boy. Originally written 5th-Oct-2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One and Only

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://fall-for-sx.livejournal.com/profile)[fall_for_sx](http://fall-for-sx.livejournal.com/). The last two parts are pretty connected, but for the most part it’s just scenes and thoughts.

**Spoilers:** Set in S4  


Despised  
_I get over heels for someone (I)  
That I really can't deal with (deal with) _

Bloody demon couldn’t do emotions, only seemed to get cravings and jealousy, anger and lust. Mixed ‘em all up in a bitch of a stew.  
_Nummy treat._ Spike smirked at Xander’s slumbering silhouette. For about a century “nummy treats” had been the rats that Dru would dangle above the prams of newly orphaned babies.  
There were no cravings here.  
Spike could do better if he wasn’t defanged—would do better when he got his bite back. Jealousy? Laughable.  Even William the Bloody Awful Poet had been better off than the Slayer’s errand boy. Had better taste in clothes too, even if 1977 was a long way off.  
So it fell to anger and, because the world was still in some futile race to take him down, it read as lust.  
That anger. The boy had no eye for the future, and perhaps that explained the minimum wage and the basement. But he didn’t even have enough foresight not to taunt the Big Bad. Spike was still stuck with these four mindless, empty excuses for emotions so he knew the demon was holding strong. Oh, that anger.  
Xander called him impotent and he just wanted to show him-- _show him_ \--how potent he was. Xander spoke and Spike swung and the chip zapped and Xander didn’t know him well enough to know when the second scream began—to know Spike’s high pitched, cracking, breathy exultation of pleasure and frustration when it overtook the pain.  
Coming in his pants like a sodding schoolboy—for someone who was too aimless to even _be_ a sodding schoolboy. It’s the only reason Spike actually tried to do laundry. 

Loved  
_I'm the inside of "I don't care"_  
Right in the middle  
I'm right in the middle 

“God I love your thighs.”  
“Let’s not get all holy while we’re lying in beds with demons, eh?”  
“I’m serious. I mean, they’re so…strong for their size.”  
Spike smiled slightly, “A lot of me is strong for my size.”  
“Well yeah, _vampire_.”  
“I’ll have you know I had these very same thighs as a human. I think I could’ve had a go at being _strong_ for you.”  
“But weren’t you from like the 1800s? I’m thinking not so much of the gay sex going on back then.”  
Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, “That’s that, we’re getting Red to phony you up some test scores and getting you into that college.”  
“What, you’re telling me that humaney Spike was out there getting Victorian man play?”  
Spike frowned as he contemplated his answer. “Didn’t say that, but just because I wasn’t doing it certainly doesn’t mean it wasn’t getting done.”  
Xander looked confused and Spike thought he was going to have to drag the boy off to the library until he realized he’d slipped into his original accent.  
100 years and it was still with him.  
“You know, when you’re being mister serious, you start to sound disturbingly like Giles.”  
“Ooh, bit of role play, eh?” Spike made sure to keep the mockney strong as he ran a fingernail up Xander’s arm.  
“I said _disturbing_.”  
“I heard what you said, luv.” Spike leaned over as if to kiss Xander on the forehead, but he clamped his lips on a bit of Xander’s hair and moved his mouth to tug it slightly. Spike loved ‘disturbing’. 

Dreamt of  
_I wear scarves and hoods_  
'Cause it's the only poker face that I've got left  
And everything I love about you is a mess  
Smash the mirror and break the palm reader's hand  
I want to be better than I am 

A formless void of bluish green, and somehow you know you’re in Xander’s veins. A quiet vacuum pulls you upward and liquid seeps in on the sides of the tunnel—so deep red that it looks purple before it even blends with the blue. You spiral around a porcelain cone and become stuck in a soft pink crevice until Xander crawls in on top of you.  
You don’t want him to take your pants off. You look like William with your pants off, you need to make yourself presentable, make yourself look like Spike, but you forgot to wear pants anyway. At least you have your duster—if you could just sneak past him to get it, but he bites the inside of your thigh. A crescent of dust floats in front of his face, streaming from the gash in your leg and getting caught in his hair.  
Xander has sunshine in his mouth and you expect to catch fire, but when he starts to give you a blowjob you see it’s just giving you a tan. You wake up before you can finish in any sense of the word.  
You wonder if tanning beds are safe and plan to find a fledge to experiment.  
The dream goes further every morning and you’re torn between never going to sleep again and spending eternity swimming through that formless void. You snort at the thought. 

Sought  
_Whenever we do spend time  
I realize that I can't get enough of you_

You’ve spent enough time being love’s bitch—100 years of killing and chaos and you’re going to settle for the dream? Going to sneak a few glances from across the room? Try to get paired up on a hunt—on a “patrol”? Be too scared of coming on to the little whelp because he’ll shoot you down like every other potential meal that thinks they’re too good for you? Better than you?  
Let’s see if he’s like the rest of them. You hope, but you doubt, and you’re sure this will end with threats and a stake, but you’ve faced the three slayers and you’re still walking the streets so your chances of survival are pretty well off.  
You stop thinking of the numbers though because then you remember every “no” you ever heard.  
You’ll go to the Scooby meeting and you won’t timidly glance, you’ll stare and you’ll smirk and you’ll pull him down into Buffy’s basement and push him against the wall and he’ll think the chip is out, but it’s working just fine, but you don’t want to hurt him and he’ll know it when you press your forehead against his and just look—just look at him.  
You’ll want to lick his face or nibble that soft spot just below his ear, but if you do then he’ll think you’re prepping him for a meal.  
You’ll slip a finger in the waist of his pants and try to look sincere.  
Can’t speak because if you speak then you get into banter, and witty or not you can’t do this with banter. He’ll be nervous; he’ll have to be nervous. If he’s not nervous then it means you’re not nearly as intimidating or as appealing as you’d like to think. For all the people that won’t love you, you know that if it wasn’t for the evil they’d at least want to shag you.  
And you’ll let him know that’s what you want. No hiding, no dancing around, you’ll slide one hand over to unbutton him out of whatever hideous pants he’s wearing and bring the other one up to twirl through a lock of that beautifully dark hair.  
“D’you wanna do this?” You’ll ask him because there can’t be any doubt. You need to know. Need to know if you’re wanted. It’s all you have sometimes.  
And when he nods it’ll be the most brilliant thing ever.  



End file.
